


pavane

by betony



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 20:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17148320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betony/pseuds/betony
Summary: Relationships take time and care to develop--so why should a merry war of words be any different?





	pavane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/gifts).



"One day," Benedick promises his dance partner, "I shall discover the most beautiful girl in the world, and marry her." Let them call him another poor Paduan then, when he is the envy of all who look upon him. 

She, however, only frowns. "Indeed you shall not. The most beautiful girl I know is my cousin Hero, everyone says that, and she is a jewel meant for hands finer than yours."

Benedick grunts. "And you, Lady? Who shall you imprison at the altar?"

She ducks under his extended arm, laughing. "Why, no less than a prince shall do for me."

* * *

 "What think you, niece, of our guests?" asks Leonato. He is all goodwill towards his fatherless niece, Beatrice knows, but even more does he look to be rid of the expense her care costs him, giving nothing in return. A horse might bear burden, a dog guard the gates, but a half-grown girl can do nothing but sing for her supper 

But some lies she cannot tell even to please him, and the way Signior Benedick makes a shiver crawl up her spine can only bode ill. 

"I mislike him, Uncle," she says, too loudly even to her own ears.

* * *

 The Lady Beatrice's hair is unfashionably dark, her nose unfortunately sharp, and her limbs gangly. For these reasons and more, Benedick dubs her "Dame Crow". In reponse she plays at ignorance, insomuch as she can; Benedick has never met a lady shrewder than she. Hewatches her in the marketplace, counting out coins with care--how she hails from Leonato's famously liberal household, Benedick cannot fathom--and bidding the bookseller show her his wares.

The Lady Beatrice's eyes shine with acquisitive glee, her cheeks flush, and her hair shines like night itself. "A crow indeed," Benedick reminds himself sharply, and looks away. 

* * *

 "Impossible," Beatrice huffs, and Benedick only laughs.

"An I prove you wrong, Lady? What prize shall I have of you then?" His breath, so warm upon her cheek, smells of cloves. Had he chewed them before he sought her out? Would that he had not.

"The satisfaction of witnessing a marvel," she says primly, "achieved only once in a lifetime. Particularly at your hands."

He winks, ever insolent, but recites Boethius as promised.

"Any fool can repeat what he's heard," she retorts when sense returns. "Why, even a parrot can."

"Who can say better," he jibes, "then the parrot-teacher herself?”

* * *

 Leonato seeks a groom for his niece in earnest, and only the best will do. Messengers are sent to Rome, to Spain, to France, and Benedick takes malicious pleasure in misdirecting those who ask him the speediest routes to travel by. 

Mischief contents him only so much; in the mornings, he watches himself in the mirror and hisses: "She'll marry another, you fool, and think nothing of you--save as a thorn removed from her shoe."

Hope is gone, and resignation follows in its place. He steels himself to render Beatrice any service he might, before she is lost to him forever.

* * *

 "Signior Benedick," Beatrice says, as she takes him aside, "An you would oblige me--"

Against her will, she humbles herself so; some words her uncle will hear only from a fellow gentleman. The slightest twitch of Benedick's lips should set her aflight, but he listens in silence.

"My cousin is in need of a tutor," she says sharply, "but Uncle deems it unnecessary. I would not see my Hero kept ignorant. Will you help us?"

He neither laughs nor protests;but only nods, and watches her until she feels her mind grow fevered. A fearsome pestilence, indeed, is her Benedick.

* * *

 If there is one quality of which Benedick has surfeit, it is pride; and if there is one skill for him to take pride in, it is his skill at the bow. 

A swordsman has no use outside of war, but an archer might charm with his skills instead. Was not Cupid a bowman himself?

"Cupid," Beatrice corrects, "is blind, as all lovers are."

"And all the more to be praised for it."

"Tell me," asks Beatrice, a smile curving her red, red lips, "could you match him?”

"Yes," Benedick promises rashly, "provided you offer me a kiss for it.”

* * *

She allows far more, in the end; not enough that she need blush to enter church, but enough to put all dreams of wedding princes beyond reach. Benedick is here, though, sweet and solid in her grasp, and she owns herself pleased with the bargain nonetheless. 

Still Beatrice cannot keep the anxiety from her voice when she rises to go. "You will speak to my uncle soon, will you not?" She halts atop the threshold. "He is fond of punctuality."

Benedick smiles at her, long and lazy. "I shall," he says. "I am not so false a jade as that."

* * *

Benedick keeps his word; Leonato is convinced of the benefits a classical education might do his daughter, and persuaded moreover to indulge his niece in a study of her own. 

Beatrice, though, only snaps: "You did not speak to him." Before he might protest his innocence, she turns on her heel. "Fool that I was to believe you!"

She says not a word more to him-- why, nor does he wish her to! He leaves Messina for the first army that will have him, wishing a plague upon all women, and one in particular, and Benedick of Padua above all.

* * *

When the army returns, Beatrice watches the soldiers' faces go by, one by one. She waits for one in particular, who will not be freed from her spite by death; Benedick's offenses number enough to feed a lifetime of anger. She discovers him in Don Pedro's wake, his loyal hound. 

Benedick bows to her when he sees her, as though he recalls nothing of what passed between them. "Lady Courtesy! Well met." He hesitates. "And yet not wed?"

Beatrice bristles before forcing a smile. "Not till a hot January, my lord."

"God keep your ladyship still in that mind," Benedick breathes, and Beatrice bares her teeth, a riposte rising onto her tongue. 

**Author's Note:**

> For Vae, whose prompt for pre-canon Beatrice/Benedick I couldn't resist. Have a happy Yuletide! (Of note, multiple lines are either outright quotes or references to the original Shakespeare).


End file.
